


Redcliffe

by faithlessone



Series: Stormheart - (M!Trevelyan/Cassandra) [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluffy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, In Hushed Whispers, Promise, time travel is the worst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24808798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithlessone/pseuds/faithlessone
Summary: The first thought in his mind after they land in the cell is of her.It’s not intentional. It rarely is. He just feels… safer when he knows where she is, what she’s doing. Happier. More confident. It soothes his soul.Wherever… whenever… this amulet of Alexius’ has sent him and Dorian, he needs to find her. He needs to get her back. And then, they need to get back. They need to save the mages from Alexius’ Tevinter tyranny, and the whole of Thedas from the Breach.(It’s hard to believe that merely a handful of months ago, his most pressing concerns were if the dining hall was going to be serving something he enjoyed, or if the new books he wanted would be approved by the First Enchanter…)
Relationships: Cassandra Pentaghast/Male Trevelyan, Male Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast
Series: Stormheart - (M!Trevelyan/Cassandra) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756030
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Redcliffe

The first thought in his mind after they land in the cell is of her.

It’s not intentional. It rarely is. He just feels… safer when he knows where she is, what she’s doing. Happier. More confident. It soothes his soul.

Wherever… _whenever_ … this amulet of Alexius’ has sent him and Dorian, he needs to find her. He needs to get her back. And then, _they_ need to get back. They need to save the mages from Alexius’ Tevinter tyranny, and the whole of Thedas from the Breach.

(It’s hard to believe that merely a handful of months ago, his most pressing concerns were if the dining hall was going to be serving something he enjoyed, or if the new books he wanted would be approved by the First Enchanter…)

He and Dorian fight their way out of the dungeon, and start searching the castle. It reminds him a little of the Ostwick Circle. A similar maze of rooms and staircases, in and out, up and down, all beginning to look identical the more he walks through them. He wishes he’d paid more attention to Leliana’s briefing, regretting that he had been too distracted at the time, wanting to ask her questions about the Hero of Ferelden. Dorian is little help, of course.

They find Enchanter Fiona first. Imprisoned in a vein of red lyrium that covers most of her body. The sight turns his stomach.

She tells them that it has been a year. A whole _year_.

“Alexius… serves the Elder One,” she adds, breathless and straining for every word. “More powerful… than the Maker. No one… challenges him and lives.”

He makes a mental note of the name. Something to remember if… no, _when_ they return to the present. Something more powerful than a god must have left marks on the world already.

“I promise, I will do everything in my power to set things right,” he assures her.

“Our only hope is to find the amulet that Alexius used to send us here,” Dorian explains. “If it still exists, I can use it to reopen the rift at the exact spot we left. Maybe.”

“Good,” Fiona says.

“I said _maybe_. It might also turn us into paste.”

He doesn’t sound particularly confident, but Brennan believes in him. He _has_ to. This isn’t a future he wants to live in.

“You _must_ try,” Fiona insists, her voice weakening yet further with the exertion. “Your spymaster, Leliana… she is here. Find her. Quickly, before the Elder One… learns you’re here.”

He nods, wishing he could do more for her.

When they leave the room, he turns to Dorian.

“We have to be more careful. Quick, but careful. Search every room, every cell. I don’t want to leave anyone behind.”

“You know we won’t be taking them with us, don’t you?” he replies, his tone more cavalier than Brennan suspects he actually feels. “It would cause all sorts of paradoxes. Paradoxi? Paradoxae?”

He forces himself to smile, assuming that Dorian is again trying to lighten the mood. “You’d think someone who was trained in time magic, even theoretically, would be certain of the plural of paradox.”

Dorian sighs, a little melodramatic. “We’ll blame my poor education, yes? Just look at my teacher!”

They continue searching the castle, up and down the stairs, in and out of rooms. At one point, they come across a couple of venatori, easily dispatched. The castle is less well-guarded than it had been in the present. It concerns him a little. Surely if Alexius were here, he would be better defended?

The next person they find is Varric. Eyes glowing red, a strange, presumably lyrium-based, vapour swirling about him, but unharmed. He seems happy to see them.

“Andraste’s sacred knickers! You’re alive?” he says, pushing himself to his feet to greet them as they break open the cell door. “Where were you? How did you escape?”

“We didn’t escape,” Dorian cuts in, thankfully saving Brennan from having to explain the time magic that he definitely doesn’t actually understand. “Alexius sent us into the future.”

“Everything that happens to you is weird,” Varric says, with a slightly rueful chuckle.

Brennan shrugs, fully in agreement. “You might be right about that.”

“I’m always right. And when I’m not, I lie about it. So, what are you doing here? Or did you come back just to trade quips with me?”

“We get to Alexius, and I just _might_ be able to send us back to our own time. Simple, really,” Dorian explains.

He sounds a little more confident about it this time, but whether he has grown more comfortable with the idea, or isn’t willing to show as much vulnerability in front of Varric as he had in front of Fiona, Brennan isn’t sure.

“That… may not be as easy as you think,” Varric says, tone darkening slightly. “Alexius is just a servant. His ‘Elder One’ assassinated the Empress and led a demon army in a huge invasion of the South. The Elder One rules everything. What’s left of it, anyway. Alexius… is really not the one you need to worry about.”

Brennan adds this to his mental note. The Empress – that can only be Celene, Empress of Orlais. Definitely something to remember and pass on to Josephine and Leliana.

“I promise you, Varric. We’ll make sure none of this happens.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re crazy,” Varric tells him. “Or _I’m_ crazy. Either way, it’s a nice thought. You want to take on Alexius? I’m in. Let’s go.”

Thankfully Varric is free to move, so Brennan takes him with them without another word. Unsurprisingly, even in these strange circumstances, he feels much better with the dwarf at his back.

They continue down the next flight of stairs, and that’s when he hears _her_. Praying the Chant, the way he’s heard her do a hundred times. Perhaps a thousand, in the months they’ve known each other. She does it to comfort herself, he knows. He hopes she has not needed _too_ much comforting in the year he has been gone.

At the door to her section of the cells, he pauses, for just a moment.

Steeling himself for what he may find within.

When he sees her, his heart leaps in his chest. Though she is sat on the floor of her cell, eyes glowing the way Varric’s are, she looks… whole. Uninjured. There are deeper lines in her face, but… She is still herself.

She startles when she sees him. “You’ve returned to us. Can it be? Has Andraste given us another chance?” Her tone becomes more desperate. “Maker forgive me. I failed you. I failed everyone. The end must truly be upon us if the dead return to life.”

He wants to fall on his knees, gather her in his arms, beg _her_ forgiveness instead. It was him who failed her, not the other way around. But, instead, all he can manage is, “I’m not back from the dead, Cassandra. I just got… Well, this is hard to explain.”

His heart breaks at her response.

“I was _there_. The magister obliterated you with a gesture.”

Of course, that’s what it must have looked like. The amulet, the rift. One moment he and Dorian were there, the next they were not. What other explanation could she have? He falters again, words slipping away from him.

Dorian steps in to explain, to his relief. “Alexius sent us forward in time. If we find him, we may be able to return to the present.”

She heaves herself to her feet, striding forward, relieved. “Go back in time? Then… can you make it so that none of this ever took place?”

He gives what he trusts is an encouraging smile. “That’s my hope.”

“None of this will happen, Andraste, please let that be true.”

Again, he resists the urge to pull her into his arms, instead simply stepping aside so she can escape her cell and join their party.

They continue searching.

On the other side of the castle, there is another handful of venatori, but again, they are no match for Brennan and his party. As they leave, he hears yelling coming from a room at the other end of the hallway. The sounds of torture. And then… a familiar voice. He glances back at Cassandra, her face like stone as they come closer to the door. She nods just once, hand tightening around the hilt of her sword and his stomach turns again.

He holds up his fingers, counting down silently: three, two, one, and then throws open the door.

Inside, Leliana wastes no time in snapping her captor’s neck with her thighs. As terrible as she looks, he thinks, thank the Maker she has not lost any of her spirit.

“Well, that was impressive,” he tells her, trying to make the best of the situation.

“Anger is stronger than any pain,” she replies, harder than silverite.

He tries to squash down the guilt he feels, the mind-numbing terror that only the simple fact of his death has caused this hell to become reality. Her rage at the mention of time magic only serves to heighten his shame. Leliana had been in favour of their plan, had wanted him to go to Redcliffe and rescue the mages. Void, she had even shown them the secret way into the castle. Now, she looks at him and sees a monster.

As they make their way outside, across the courtyard towards the throne room, the Breach fills the sky above them, turning everything a hazy but achingly familiar shade of green. He closes the rifts that they come across, but it feels like using a thimble to try and empty the Waking Sea. Useless. Pointless.

They _have_ to find Alexius and get back.

When they finally manage to reach and unlock the throne room, time seems to distort around him all over again. The confrontation with Alexius is a blur. They meet Felix, twisted by magic into a ghoul he barely recognises, and Brennan can only watch as Leliana slits his throat. They demand the amulet, but Alexius refuses to give it over, choosing to fight them instead.

This future _cannot_ be all that they have. The months they have already spent walking the length and breadth of Ferelden _cannot_ have been for nothing.

He feels the slash of a claw across his cheek as he spins away, trying to get some distance between himself and the demons that Alexius has summoned. Not fatal. He electrifies the demon responsible just as Cassandra approaches, slicing its head from its spindly body. Even in the heat of battle, she gives him an odd, almost happy look, as if she’s enjoying this. He wonders how long it has been since she has been allowed this kind of freedom; how long she was in that cell. He wishes he had the strength to ask.

Then, before he knows it, Alexius is dead, they have the amulet, and Dorian says it will take an hour to figure out the spell.

Leliana almost erupts. “An hour? That’s impossible! You _must_ go now.”

The room shakes beneath their feet, the stone crumbling from the walls, an unholy screech echoing around them.

“The Elder One,” she explains.

“You have to hurry,” Varric insists. “This is bad.”

He and Cassandra exchange glances, and… no. Even if this future might never be, he can’t…

No…

“We’ll hold the main door,” Varric adds, confirming his fears. “Once they break through, it’s all you, Nightingale.”

“No!” He can’t help the exclamation. “I won’t let you commit suicide!”

Leliana raises her hand, her voice calm and steady. “Look at us. We’re already dead. The only way we live is if this day never comes. Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows.”

He watches Varric and Cassandra walk towards the door. No goodbye, not even a glance back at him as they leave. To them, he’s already dead, already gone, but his heart feels like it’s ripping in two. No matter how he tries to convince himself that this isn’t real, he is still sending Cassandra – _his_ Cassandra – to her death. And he never even…

No.

That isn’t a thought he can allow himself to have.

Not now.

Leliana takes up her position between the portal and the door. The sounds of battle, of metal on metal, of flesh being torn asunder, echo from the corridor. He glances from Dorian to the door and back again, over and over.

What happens if the demons make it through before Dorian works his spell?

What happens if Cassandra and Varric have given up their lives for nothing?

What happens if _this_ is all that there is?

“Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame.” Leliana recites, as she draws back her bow and the doors burst open.

He tries not to look, but his curiosity gets the better of him, turning just in time to see a terror demon flinging Cassandra’s body through the door. He almost screams, instinctively wanting nothing more than to tear that demon limb from limb with his own hands. But Dorian calls his attention back.

Leliana fires arrow after arrow, hitting them with the bow itself when they get too close. He casts a few spells to aid her, but his attention is divided, his heart beating far too hard, and nothing seems to help. Finally, she falls to the sheer number of them, and another terror demon raises its claw against her…

Then the world blurs again as Dorian drags him bodily through the rift.

*

The first thought in his mind after they return to the present is of her.

She’s standing exactly where he remembers her being. A moment for her, a few hours for him, but it feels like so much longer. As if he were the one to live that missing year. She looks healthy, her eyes their usual beautiful hazel shade instead of the lyrium red they had been. He has to rein himself in to stop from going to her, as she frowns at his all-too longing gaze.

Not the time. Not the place.

Belatedly, he realises that he hasn’t healed the cut on his cheek, and that is probably half the cause of her frown. He pivots away from her, pressing his fingers against the tear and knitting it back together in a moment. When he turns back, though, she is still frowning.

Alexius falls to his knees before them.

He’s never considered himself a violent person. Strange, considering the number of demons, bandits, mercenaries and the like he has been personally or tangentially responsible for killing in the past few months, but true. If there were a way to stop a thing without bloodshed, he would prefer to take it.

Now, however, he finds himself with an almost desperate desire to electrocute the magister.

To boil the blood in his very veins.

To ignite his nerves with endless pain.

Not only for the events that he would have set in motion had they not been able to make it back, but also for the images Brennan is never going to be able to forget. Fiona’s body encased in lyrium. Leliana, cold as ice, commenting angrily that mages always wonder why people fear them. Cassandra’s solemn expression as she and Varric went out to die, just to give him a few minutes more.

He would _happily_ murder this man.

But he can’t. It would not be right, or decent, or honourable. It would set a precedent for the Inquisition that he doesn’t want to have to uphold.

“Put aside all right to Redcliffe, and we let you live,” he finds himself saying instead.

“You won,” Alexius says, defeated. “There is no point extending this charade.” He looks up at his son. “Felix…”

The young man kneels beside him. “It’s going to be all right, Father.”

“You’ll die.”

“Everyone dies.”

Felix’ simple statement hits a little too close to Brennan’s heart for his liking, but at least the magister seems to be going peacefully. He watches as the Inquisition soldiers lead both father and son away.

“Well, I’m glad that’s over with.” Dorian voices the thought that is in Brennan’s own head.

He’s looking forward to returning to Haven, to a hot bath after their journey and then an evening in the tavern, listening to Maryden sing while Flissa pours them all ale. He’s going to request that new song Maryden recently wrote about Sera. It’s so joyful, and always cheers his heart…

Of course, that’s when King Alistair and his forces show up.

*

The first thought in his mind for most of their journey back to Haven is of her.

He can’t help stealing glances at her whenever he thinks she might not be looking. Just to check. Checking that she still breathes, hearty and whole, that there is no lyrium vapour floating around her, that her eyes aren’t glowing red. He steals glances at Varric and Leliana too, but not nearly so often. It seems a foregone conclusion that it will not be _their_ future selves that show up in his dreams most of all.

“What will you tell them?” Dorian asks, drawing his charger close to the Herald’s. “About what we saw in the future?”

He thinks, for just a moment. In all honesty, he would rather not say a word about it. Would rather than none of his party, nor the council, ever find out what he and Dorian saw. But he knows that is a tremendously selfish act.

His apparent death might have been the catalyst for the world setting itself on fire, but the knowledge of what the Elder One and his faction had done with it could be immeasurably valuable. He supposes that the assassination of Queen Celene may be of particular interest.

“I wish we’d asked more questions,” he admits, dropping his voice and hoping no one can overhear them. “In hindsight.”

“We did have slightly more pressing issues.”

He nods. “But Leliana will ask for more details about what happened in the intervening year, and I don’t have any.”

“She _is_ a feisty one.”

“Please don’t let her hear you say that.” He glances quickly back, to where Leliana and Cassandra are riding a little way behind, thankfully still deep in whispered conversation.

Dorian only laughs.

“You do surround yourself with such interesting people, Trevelyan. I believe I might enjoy sticking around.”

What?

“You’re… staying?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. Did you think I would be running back to Tevinter? Besides, I haven’t quite decided yet. Let’s see how this mage alliance goes down with the rest of your charming friends.”

Cassandra’s voice echoes in his head. ‘We’ll discuss this. Later.’

He glances back at her again.

“Do you think I made the right decision? Alliance, instead of conscription?”

Dorian gives him a fond smile. “Are you asking for my honest opinion, or do you simply want reassurance?”

“Honest. Always honest.”

“Well, if we’re being _honest_ , I do think you need some new robes. That colour does nothing for your complexion and honestly, a little more exposed flesh would do wonders for morale. Mine, at the very least.”

“Dorian!”

He smirks, a chuckle barely restrained. “My apologies. On the subject of our fellow mages?”

“Yes.”

“I grew up in a country where mages ruled, and then came here to a place where it seems mages are reviled, unless they are kept in cages. I couldn’t say for certain which is better. If you’re looking for an unbiased opinion, I’m afraid you will not find one here.”

He tries not to let his heart sink. After all, he did ask for honesty.

“Now, if you are concerned about the opinion of one Seeker Pentaghast, on the other hand?” Dorian continues. “I don’t think her ire will last for long.”

He tries not to let his heart jump. “You don’t know her very well.”

“On the contrary, I am an excellent judge of character.”

“Oh yes?”

There is a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “For example, I suspect your desire to keep the Seeker’s good opinion is not for strictly professional reasons.”

For a moment, he wants to deny it. Then he feels his cheeks heating. No one’s actually come out and said it yet, though he suspects (at the very least) that Varric, Bull and Leliana are fully aware of his feelings, and he doubts the other senior members of the Inquisition are particularly far behind.

Except her, of course.

He’s almost certain that she doesn’t know. Even if she does, she’s never shown him the slightest sign that she returns his feelings. Which is perfectly acceptable. She is under no obligation to do so. The fact she deigns to spend any time with him at all outside of their duties is a gift he still isn’t sure he’s worthy of.

“Please don’t,” he says, quietly.

Dorian’s expression softens a little. “Unrequited, eh? Happens to the best of us. Even me.”

“Felix?”

He shakes his head. “Not on my part, at least. Perhaps on his. Earlier than that, before I was apprenticed. His name was Vitus. The son of one of Father’s friends. We were often in each other’s company. He was tall and handsome and gifted. A few years older, stronger and wiser than I was. Everything my parents hoped I would be, I suppose. A role model to look up to. Perhaps it should have made me jealous, envious, but…” he trails off, lost in thought.

“What happened?” Brennan prompts after the silence grows a little too much for him to bear.

Dorian shakes himself. “What else? He got married. A charming girl from an excellent family. He seemed happy enough. It broke my heart, of course, but it wasn’t his fault.”

Brennan gives him a sympathetic smile.

“Enough of that, I think,” Dorian replies. He turns his attention to a small stain on the sleeve of his leathers, and vanishes it with a whispered spell.

“How did you _do_ that?”

“Blood magic,” he responds, deadpan.

Brennan must look as flabbergasted as he feels, because Dorian laughs, the mood lightened in an instant.

“That was a joke. Didn’t they teach you cleaning spells in your gilded cage?”

He shakes his head. “We had servants for most of that. It was a good punishment for the apprentices too. If you were late to class, you had to scrub the classroom floor. Caught talking after lights out, and off to the laundry with you instead of breakfast. And so on.”

Dorian laughs again. “How delightfully primitive you Southerners are. Not to worry. Tricky to do it on the road, but when we get back to Haven and have a moment to breathe, I’ll teach you. We can’t have the Herald of Andraste walking around with soiled clothes.”

He smiles in response, and hopes Dorian _will_ stick around.

*

The first thought he has upon returning to Haven, and the council being summoned for a meeting, is of her.

They haven’t had a chance to discuss his actions. The journey had been as short as they could make it, travelling through the hills rather than taking the road, only camping for brief periods to rest the horses. He has barely slept, but there was little privacy to be had, and what little there was had been spent briefing his party on the things that he and Dorian had seen and heard about while they were in the future. The mage alliance had been tabled to be dealt with in Haven.

He knows that Cullen is going to be furious with his decision. The former templar hadn’t been at all in favour of meeting with the mages in the first place, and he knows that Cullen is going to see the offer of an alliance, rather than conscription, as a personal insult. Josephine is likely to be angry too. She had seemed to be on Cullen’s side, correctly assuming that the invitation to Redcliffe would be a trap. Not to mention that they may have aggravated relations with King Alistair by allying with the very mages he was trying to exile. Leliana had been in favour of the plan from the start, for reasons he’s not even going to begin to guess at, but her support alone won’t be enough to save him.

He hesitates at the door of the chantry after delaying as long as he dares, hearing muffled but clearly arguing voices already inside.

“It is not a matter for debate,” Cullen says, just as he finally works up the courage to enter. “There will be abominations among the mages, and we must be prepared!”

“If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best. Tyrannical at worst,” Josephine argues back.

Cullen notices him entering, and turns on him. “What were you thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight? The Veil is torn open!”

“We need them to close the breach,” he replies, stepping into the circle between Josephine and Leliana, and trying to keep his voice calm. It’s a response he has practiced in his head many times on the journey back. “It’s not going to work if we make enemies of them.”

“I know we need them for the breach, but they could do as much damage as the demons themselves.” Then Cullen turns to Cassandra. “You were there, Seeker! Why didn’t you intervene?”

Brennan holds his breath instinctively, steeling himself for whatever she says. No matter how angry she is, how badly he has played this, he _will_ find a way to make it up to her.

“While I may not completely agree with the decision,” she says, and then she catches his eye, an ever-so-slight note of approval in her voice. “I support it. The sole point of the Herald’s mission was to gain the mages’ aid, and that was accomplished.”

Whatever he was expecting… that… wasn’t it.

He’s so shocked, he doesn’t even notice Dorian stepping out of the shadows.

“The voice of pragmatism speaks? And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

Cassandra turns to look at Dorian for a brief moment, addressing the whole room with an air of resigned acceptance. “Closing the breach is all that matters.”

“The longer the breach is open, the more damage it does,” he says, trying to project authority and competence, but unsure if it works. “We should head there as soon as possible.”

“Agreed,” Josephine adds.

“We should look into the things you saw in this ‘dark future’,” Leliana says, changing the subject smoothly. “The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?”

“Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do,” Dorian notes, sounding a little _too_ pleased with himself. “Orlais falls, the Imperium rises, chaos for everyone!”

“One battle at a time!” Cullen cuts in. “It’s going to take time to organise our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the war room.” He turns to Brennan. “Join us. None of this means anything without your mark, after all.”

He wants to be a little flippant, to make a joke and try and lighten the situation, but he guesses that it would not be received at all well.

“Thank you,” he says instead. “I’d be honoured to help with the plan.”

“We will meet tomorrow,” Josephine says. “I daresay all of us could do with some rest.”

Cullen seems impatient, but he nods.

“I’ll skip the war council,” Dorian says. “But I would like to see this breach up close, if you don’t mind.”

“Then you’re staying?” He tries not to sounds as excited as he feels. Though he’s only known the other mage a handful of days, he feels a genuine camaraderie with him. Getting thrown through time together will do that.

“Oh, didn’t I mention? The South is so charming and rustic,” he says. “I adore it to little pieces.”

“There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with, future or present.”

(It’s not strictly the truth, but as he can’t exactly admit who his first choice would be, he thinks Dorian will let it slide.)

The other mage gives him a warm smile. “Excellent choice! But let’s not get ‘stranded’ again any time soon, yes?”

“I’ll begin preparations to march on the summit,” Cullen says, apparently entirely ignoring their newest member. “Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory.”

“Quite so,” Josephine adds. “But for now, rest.”

They begin to disperse. Cullen is the first to stride through the doors, presumably heading for the office he has set up in his tent, and another sleepless night of troop movements rather than the rest their ambassador has all but ordered. Leliana catches Josephine’s wrist and spirits them both away to the ambassador’s office. He… won’t ask. Dorian catches his eye, giving an enigmatic smile, and then leaves. Brennan hears him loudly asking for directions to the tavern from a passing chantry sister, causing a small uproar. Life is certainly going to be more interesting with him around.

Cassandra lingers. She has half an eye on Josephine’s door, as if concerned about what they might be discussing and wondering whether to interrupt them.

He takes a deep breath and decides to risk it.

“Thank you.”

She frowns at him, as if wondering why he’s still there.

“For what you said in the meeting?” he elaborates. “For supporting me.”

Sighing a little, she turns towards him. “You were right.”

What?

“Sorry?”

“You heard me. Do not make me say it again.”

“That wasn’t… I was just surprised. From what you said at Redcliffe, I thought you were going to sell me out to Cullen. That we _should_ have conscripted them, but because I was stupid enough to give the alliance right out loud in front of Fiona and the soldiers and… void, even _King Alistair_ , we couldn’t take it back. Just like Josephine said.”

She sighs again. “I was perhaps too hasty in my words at the castle. We went to Redcliffe for allies, and you achieved that much.”

Cassandra admitting she was wrong? He doesn’t dare say it out loud, but that doesn’t stop the thought making him smile.

She makes a noise of disgust at him, and starts to turn away again. “I am going to sleep. I suggest you do the same.”

“Might I accompany you to your tent?” It seems like a courtly thing to ask.

“No.”

Her sharp retort makes his shoulders sink a little despite his best efforts to hide his disappointment. Then she seems to think better of it.

“I will accompany you to your cabin, though,” she continues.

He doesn’t think it’s his imagination that she wants to add something along the lines of – ‘so I can be reasonably assured you will go there and rest instead of doubling back to the tavern for ale and obnoxiously loud singing with Dorian and Sera’.

In any case, he offers her his arm, just as he remembers his father doing for his mother. She ignores it, as he was expecting she would, even if he hoped she wouldn’t.

The area around the chantry is subdued, even for this time of night. Music and laughter from the tavern, of course, but little of it spills out much further. Varric is back by his preferred campfire, talking quietly and sharing a mug of something with one of Leliana’s scouts. Brennan lets his gaze track over the dwarf, healthy and happy, trying to imprint it over the memory of the Varric he had seen in the future.

Cassandra notices.

“Was it horrible?” she asks softly, as they descend the steps and head towards his cabin.

He nods. In his briefing on the way back from Redcliffe, he had tried not to dwell on his personal feelings, just the facts.

“I’m sorry.”

He nods again, unsure of what else to do.

When they reach his door, he pauses. There’s something… it’s been in the back of his head since they returned to the present. He hasn’t been able to find the words to ask it of her, let alone the privacy. But here…

There’s no one around.

If he doesn’t take the chance, he doesn’t know how long he will let it dwell on his conscience.

“Cassandra?”

She looks suspiciously at him, as if she already knows what he’s going to ask, and that she cannot fulfil it. “Yes?” 

“I know I have no right to ask this, and it may not be something you can promise, but I just wanted to ask…”

“Out with it, Trevelyan,” she interrupts.

He glances away from her, finding it hard to look her in the eye; but when he does, all he can see is that terror demon dropping her body to the ground like a sack of potatoes, so he looks back. Forcing himself to see _her_.

“Please don’t _ever_ give your life for me.”

She sighs heavily. “Trevelyan…”

“Not if there’s any other choice,” he continues, hurriedly cutting her off.

“It is not something I am willing to promise,” she replies, her tone dark. “We cannot know what the future will bring, this time. If it is my life that stands between you and the end of the world, I will _gladly_ give it.”

He can’t help his shoulders falling, head dropping to look at his feet, wishing he could argue back at her. The few times he’s tried, it has only made her resolve stronger. This looks to be no different.

Then, almost impossibly, she reaches out, her gloved hand slipping into his and lifting it to hold between both of hers.

The left, he notes, absently as he looks up, startled, as if it might be some kind of trick. But no, she’s looking at him. Her suspicion has mellowed into a kind of… sympathy?

“You said, at the end, that you obtained the amulet from Alexius, and Dorian activated it. There was more to it than that, wasn’t there?”

It had been the simplest form of the truth. He had, of course, told them about meeting Fiona, Varric, Cassandra and Leliana in the future. Some details of their conditions. Varric had been quite distressed to hear about the red lyrium everywhere, so Brennan had decided not to mention that Leliana was being tortured, or the specifics of their sacrifice for him.

“The Elder One was in the castle,” he says, focussing back at her hands, now tightly gripping his. “We heard him coming. Screaming. An _unholy_ scream. Dorian needed… time. Time to figure out the magic, to work a counterspell.”

“So we gave you the time.”

He nods.

“It didn’t happen, Trevelyan,” she says, gently. “And if it is within my power, it will not happen again.”

She can’t know that. She can’t promise it. But he appreciates the gesture nonetheless.

“I’m glad you weren’t there,” he says instead, looking back up at her face. “Not really.”

“As am I.”

“Can we… spar, tomorrow morning? Before the council meeting?”

She doesn’t even blink at the abrupt change of topic. “Fists or quarterstaffs?”

“Fists.”

It’s selfish, but he’d like the excuse to be as close to her as she’ll allow him to get.

She nods. “Dawn.”

“Thank you.”

She lets the suggestion of a smile turn her lips. “You will not thank me if you do not get some sleep, Trevelyan. Do not assume that I have yet worked out all my frustration with this… situation.”

Is it bad that he enjoys fighting her more when she’s angry with him?

“Till dawn, then,” he says, grinning at her.

It seems to take her an extra moment to realise that she’s still holding his hand. She gives it one last squeeze, and then releases him, stepping back.

“Good night, Trevelyan.”

She doesn’t wait to hear his answer, turning on her heel and striding away from him towards the gate. He watches her go, waiting until the gate swings shut once more before he opens the door of his cabin and slips inside.

Despite the horrors he has been afraid of seeing in his nightmares, he sleeps well that night – his thoughts all of her.


End file.
